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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Ay, ay, sir; if that is the case the vessels ahead are steering about west-south-west." "That will do, Mr Boyne; you may come down, sir! Clear for action, Mr Pottle, if you please, and then let the crew go to quarters." "Ay, ay, sir. Clear for action, Mr Fidd!"
I sprang out of my cot, slipped my stockingless feet into my shoes, drew on my jacket, and met young Boyne at the cabin door. "Well, Mr Boyne," said I, "what is the news? I heard Mr Pottle ask you to call me." "Yes, sir," said the lad. "He says he has seen something like the flash of firearms down in the southern quarter, and the lookout also has reported it."
"I thought it looked like the flash of firearms," was the reply, which I this time heard distinctly. "So did I," gruffly remarked Pottle. "Depend on't, Mr Boyne, there's something going on down there to the south'ard which ought to be looked into. Just step down below and give Mr Lascelles a call, will ye?"
My lord Percy and Master Thomas Percy had half a loaf of household bread, a manchet, a pottle of beer, a dish of butter, a piece of salt fish, and a dish of sprats or three white herrings; and the nursery breakfast for my lady Margaret and Master Ingram Percy was much the same.
Josselyn, writing in 1671, gives a New England dish, which he says is as good as whitpot, made of oatmeal, sugar, spice, and a "pottle of milk;" a pottle was two quarts. At a somewhat later date the New Hampshire settlers had a popular oatmeal porridge, in which the oatmeal was sifted, left in water, and allowed to sour, then boiled to a jelly, and was called "sowens."
"Oh! hush! hush!" cried Miss Vesta. "He had the pleurisy, as I said; very badly indeed, poor man, so that he was quite, quite invalided " "Pottle had? serve him " "No, no, Geoffrey; Doctor Namby had. And so she was quite positive she understood the case, and Mr.
Cut two pounds of fine fresh salmon in slices about three quarters of an inch thick, and set them aside on a dish, clean and scrape five or six anchovies and halve them, then chop a small pottle of mushrooms, a handful of fresh parsley, a couple of shalots, and a little green thyme.
"What a pity," quoth one, "that such a stout, lusty lad should be in holy orders." "Marry," quoth Little John to himself, as he strode along, "yon was no such ill happening; Saint Dunstan send me more of the like." After he had trudged along for a time he began to wax thirsty again in the warmth of the day. He shook his leathern pottle beside his ear, but not a sound came therefrom.
To which young Boyne replied, in unmistakably sleepy tones: "What was what, Mr Pottle?" "Why," replied Pottle, "I thought I saw Ha! look, there it is again! Did you not see something like a flash away off there on our starboard beam?" "No, sir," said Boyne, evidently a little more wide-awake, "I cannot say I did. Probably it was lightning; we must have it before long."
He knocks and enters, and finds Freshfield over his favourite work, the Posterior Analytics, and a pottle of strawberries. "Come down to the Beaumont, old man," he says, "and play pyked staffe." Roger is disinclined to move, he MUST finish the Posterior Analytics.
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